


Are We Not Drawn Onward To New Era?

by ClockGuts



Series: Amore Roma [1]
Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Death, Eventual Smut?, Horny, Hurt and comfort, I think I will Give Protag a name eventually, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protag is blind but so is Neil, Rating subject to change, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Time Travel, arepo matters, i have no idea what im doing, long con, perspective change per chapter, sator square, somewhat canon compliant, temporal pincer movement, tenet lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockGuts/pseuds/ClockGuts
Summary: He realizes it, with a sort of slow aching conspiracy, that he will be the one to enact everything. If he has been working for himself, then this whole plan, this whole world, has to be kept aligned.It is a consistent fight with the future, a world where he must return to the past with the knowledge of the present to protect reality as he had come to know it.One giant pincer movement.This time however, he intends to go back with his memory.Ignorance is not his ammunition, but the ammunition of all those around him, all those he is going to recruit, all those he is going to procure and protect.Tenet is his vow, and he has yet to ensure its existence.---Alternatively:Set beyond the film, our Protagonist uses his team of new recruits to invade the underground forgery world. Coaxing out the elusive Arepo, the team must work to ensure that Sator purchases the fake Goya to complete the timeline. Neil himself struggles with mounting emotional conflict about his superior as he works to prove himself on his first solo mission to invade the auction houses. Determined to impress the Protagonist, he is willing to risk more than he realizes by diving head first into Sator’s world.
Relationships: Neil & The Protagonist (Tenet), Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Series: Amore Roma [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917775
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	1. Wont lovers revolt now?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for peeking in,  
> this fic is under construction, and part 3 is still in the wip stage but exists for your reading pleasure regardless.  
> Much like the film, I may jump around.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ VeilThrea if anyone wants to chit chat theories!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one~  
> This story will flip around with the perspective eventually, and since the beginning is only half the battle, here is a little prologue. 
> 
> My personal idea was that Protagonist would have to travel back in time to meet up with Neil and ensure that everything discussed in the film actually transpires, and I actually found several articles agreeing with the theory? So that is how this fic will take place.

He realizes it, with a sort of slow aching conspiracy, that he will be the one to enact everything. If he has been working for himself, then this whole plan, this whole world, has to be kept ensured.

It is a consistent fight with the future, a world where he must return to the past with the knowledge of the future to protect it.

One giant pincer movement.

This time however, he intends to go back with his memory.

Ignorance is not his ammunition, but the ammunition of all those around him, all those he is going to recruit, all those he is going to procure and protect.

Tenet is his vow, and he has yet to ensure its existence.

He does not know when to return back to, and sets off on a journey to find the beginning, to find the point in time where everything is set into motion; but more importantly, he is setting off to find Neil.

The one pinpoint on the map he knows is a positive.

The one person he can trust in the past, without a shadow of a doubt.

Tracing back through the time stream is a practice in communicating like the future. Following paper trails, looking for documents, tracking individuals he knows he can trust to specific points and then locating a turnstile he can actually access around the correct time.

He’s found most of them, and knows who is using them.

The process of inverting a human back several years was a tedious one, and Ives had explained it to him as near torture. Something only a deranged individual might perform. What offended him about that is that Neil had done it, Neil had gone back for however many years to invert and save him at the Opera house.

And lo and behold here he was doing the same thing.

In some selfish manner he was doing this to save his own life, and in a selfless one he was doing this to ensure the fate of the world.

But Ives had given him names, given him information to take with. Because Ives knew more than he was letting on, and Ives clearly felt that despite it being risky, this was a necessity.

“Where and when” he had repeated. “This better not ripple back to me, I better not find you.”

Ives wasn’t going to find shit, Protagonist was certain of that. He knew where to hide the pieces, he knew what to do. And now all he had to do was step back through the red and into the blue. 

The place he has tracked back to is cluttered and messy, only occasionally frequented by other passing through Tenet agents.

It’s odd, to see faces he doesn’t recognize, faces that so clearly recognize him, duck their heads, and proceed like nothing has happened between them.

The experience makes him nervous, to an extent. It has been a long time since he’s talked to anyone intimately. All he can do to focus is take runs outside, cook his own meals, and return to the blue and red spiderweb he has created in his room.

The tangible essence of string has helped ground him in the past and present, and he tracks one of the blue strands to a note-card, plucking it away from the cork and pursing his lips.

Neil was tricky to locate, but he became more of a focal point the more he studied their apparent history.

There was that Masters in physics, but from where? And why not a PHD…That had to be _his_ doing. Neil didn’t seem the type to stop before the full mile.

He makes a plan to canvas colleges, checking for anyone in a British circle under his name, during this timeframe.

In the end however, his efforts, his trials and tribulations over finding Neil, they all become irrelevant.

Because the other is on the tube with him.

He’s standing, calm and phone in hand. He’s watching the screen, hair flopped over his eyes like a shaggy dog. He seems a bit worse for wear, his clothing is scuffed up and his cuffs undone, a scarf is loose around his neck and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. The tube shakes and he moves his weight perfectly to adapt, never looking up from his phone.

Protagonist is glad, because it gives him a chance to observe, to marvel at the wonders of the universe for handing him over on a silver platter.

Neil is tall, handsome really, any girl would fawn over him and his accent in America. But he’s wearing a hideously tinted dress coat, a green color that would only look good in a faded painting. It contrasts horribly with the tube lights, and yet, still the other manages to be handsome.

He’s rolling his thumb across the screen, reading something that makes his lips purse and eyebrows furrow.

Protagonist smiles, wondering what the other is reading.

And then the guilt hits.

And soon after that, the fear.

There is, of course, the uncertainty, that this was not how they were supposed to meet.

But above that, the realization that this is how Neil felt, that Neil knew the other more intimately than he even knew Neil now, and he went up to him, saved his life, and accepted a world where he was not known.

At least here he had the chance to make a good impression.

Which he was not doing, because Neil had looked up, and they had locked eyes.

His guilt swelled, and he felt sick.

The last time they had made eye contact, Neil had been walking to his death. And if he went forward, if he made contact, he would be sending him to it all over again.

The eye contact was strong, Neil leaning back, squaring his shoulders, and smirking just slightly. As if he had been waiting for the other, as if he already knew who he was, what timeframe he came from, and how long he had been waiting to get here.

But Neil knew none of that.

And the tube stopped, and he stepped off, easily slipping away with a sea of people.

Had he missed his chance?

That wasn’t allowed to happen! 

Diving off the train he hit the platform and scanned the crowd for that hideous green, before spinning around when he hears a familiar voice.

“Do you need something?”

He looks up, and the other is right behind him, arms crossed, phone tucked under one. He isn’t afraid, or nervous. He’s demanding and sure of himself, and the protagonist himself is so temporarily shocked, so desperate for a friendly voice, he blurts

“You.”

And Neil laughs and looks away, his shoulders relaxing.

“A little forward of you?”

“No, sorry, just- we need to talk.”

“I don’t think so…” Neil chuckles, turning to look at his phone, before back to the other and raising a brow when Protagonist doesn’t leave, asks. “Not here, anyway.”

“Let me take you to a pub?”

“Oh, and you said you weren’t being forward.” He’s checking the time on his wrist, before looking back, pocketing his phone. “I don’t have the time today darling, but perhaps if our paths cross again I’ll reconsider.”

He’s panicking now. In all his mental predictions about how this would go, Neil being disinterested in him did NOT register as a possibility.

He had fantasized about meeting in a coffee shop, or catching eyes across a bar. Perhaps he would have found the other’s college and called him out of class to whisk him away into a world of time travel espionage.

He had not anticipated having to work for the other’s attention.

He had assumed he would be interesting.

He was wrong.

Neil gave him a little wave, clearly smirking as the corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips became thin. Pivoting on his heel, he made for the stairs, and Protagonist was left stunned into temporary submission.

What the hell? 

The second time they meet, Protagonist shows up prepared.

Neil is on the tube again, as he had hoped. It is only a day later, and predictably this must be his route home. It’s odd to think about Neil with a life, a job before Tenet. A life before him.

It was all encompassing and selfish, a plight to save the world, a plight to save a friend. And now here he was, watching the other scroll away on his phone, ignoring the world around him and unaware he was being observed.

Or perhaps Neil could feel eyes on him, and elected to ignore it. Assuming it was some lustful individual trapped on the tube and willing to indulge in temporary fantasy.

Now is not the time to be feeling jealous, though, and Protagonist moves in just a bit closer, not wanting to spook the other off the tube.

He has to be interesting, has to stake a claim and show the other he is worth his time. He shows up with ammunition.

Neil himself is still the embodiment of no paper trail.

It was almost too convenient, till he realized it was purposeful.

The process had made Protagonist feel stupid, which was hard to achieve and yet apparently easily done when Neil was involved.

The other had to be MI5, maybe MI6.

There were a few contact phrases he knew, small things memorized to save his life in a sticky situation. He could only remember with grief the last one he had muttered again and again, a twilight world, oh how dark it had been recently.

Till now.

Till the familiarity.

Sliding into the others personal space on the tube, he leaned around to spy whatever the other was doing on his phone.

Neil pulled it away on instinct, clutching it close to his chest as if offended and sneering at him in distrust.

“You?”

“You did say if our paths crossed again.”

“Are you following me?”

“Of course not, this is just random happenstance.”

“It feels purposeful.”

And he drops it, casually as he can.

_“Won’t lovers revolt now?”_

There is a brief moment, where he can see the cogs turning, he can witness the clicking, the sliding gear making a perfect connection, and then Neil seems to understand.

With the understanding comes distress, instant and aware, his demeanor changes from relaxed to high strung, and his shoulders go back and his phone is pocketed once again.

_“Did Hannah say as Hannah did?”_

The grin the protagonist cannot suppress is surely off-putting.

“We need to talk.”

“Did you still want to drop into that pub?”

“I’ll buy you a vodka tonic.”

Neil pales, but now he’s undeniably interested. 


	2. No, it is opposition

He’s disturbed when the other knows his favorite drink, but perhaps he’s just an easy read? Or maybe the other saw him at a bar before; he’s clearly been being stalked. Which does not bode well for his budding training, He hasn’t been in the field long, but if an American agent was able to track him for that long, well.

Perhaps the scouting agent had been incorrect when assessing him.

That made him a bit nervous, because if that was the case, how was he going to keep his head above water when he was already dog paddling in the deep end with a CIA, maybe NSA agent.

A handsome one, at that, whose bought his drink and is sitting across from him at a public counter.

“I promise you, drinking won’t loosen my tongue, if you’re here for secrets.”

“I’m not.”

He says it so calmly, so assuredly that it makes Neil’s stomach do a flip. Is he being set up? If that’s the case, he should have sent out a warning text to the other local outpost.

“Then…what _do_ you want to discuss?”

Something about the way the other shifts leads him to believe perhaps he hadn’t planned this far ahead, and he was right.

The other male was thinking about how stupid he had been, how arrogantly he had assumed he had been the first to scout Neil, how that masters was his doing and not some other agency with the decency to see how much potential he had.

Neil himself was blind to that side of the internal struggle, just pursing his lips a little as the American began to speak again, this time with purpose.

“I want to offer you a job.”

“I have a job.”

“With who, MI5, MI6? Trust me, I can pay better, and it’ll be more entertaining than whatever it is you’re doing now.”

He leans forward, and Neil leans back just a bit, maintaining his personal space. Sure, this man is charming, attractive, and well groomed, but he’s also a foreigner, and potentially a threat.

“And who do YOU work for, are you NSA, CIA? You must be someone with something, to walk in here expecting immediate comradery…”

“No, of course not…” He looks around himself, before leaning forward again, this time Neil had no room to run. He pressed send on his phone, calling for help. Better to be safe than sorry right? And he didn’t want to pick a fight with the American when he had bought him a drink.

Speaking of, he took a sip, at least this bar did a decent job.

“Will you at least tell me your name, if you plan to be so evasive?”

“You can call me Protagonist.”

“Ah, code names, I forget Americans are so…theatrical.” He waves his glass about, pursing his lips and shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He doesn’t have long to wait before his aid will arrive, so he humors the other playfully. “If you insist, you can call me Understudy,”

Something about the way the other is smirking is making him uncomfortable, and he takes a much larger swig off his drink after abusing it with a harsh swirl.

“What’s so funny?”

“That they still gave you a code name.”

“Oh shut up.”

But he’s grinning, because the other is charming and playful and hasn’t done anything to hurt him yet, which makes him regret the fact that there are two other agents walking through the pub doors.

Protagonist checks over his shoulder, before looking back to Neil with disappointment. “Really?”

“Really.”

There is a look of hurt, maybe mistrust on the American’s face, and Neil shrugs, as if it isn’t personal. Because it isn’t, this is just-

“Standard operating procedure?”

He stands, straightening his coat and patting the other on the shoulder, as if they’ve been friends for quite some time. “At least finish your drink while I take care of this, Understudy.” He tacks on the name like an insult, before turning to face the other two agents, giving them a polite nod.

Neil snorts, but does shoot back the drink in one go, standing, and then stumbling. He hadn’t drank that much…?

He notices what looks like smoke coming out from under the bar counter, and peers at it briefly, before his attention is drawn back to the other two men. He doesn’t recognize them, but then again there are lots of agents running amuck in Europe.

It doesn’t matter, Protagonist is walking toward the other two men, greeting them as if he intends to be friendly. But their body posture is professional, and they size one another up like dogs meeting at the park. Tails high and stiff as they sniff one another up and down, determining who is dominant.

The tension snaps.

It turns out Neil’s backup is not dominant, because when they try to take him in, it goes badly.

One takes Neil’s empty glass to the temple, going down in a fit of confusion and screaming about glass in his eye. The next attempts to pull a gun, before being disarmed. He gets one round off into the floor and then receives a knee to the gut, causing him to grunt and clutch his stomach, falling backward.

Neil himself moves to get involved, before being pushed back harshly by Protagonist, landing on the seat and grunting, he glares when the other male holds up a hand, one finger extended to the ceiling.

“Stay.”

He tells him firmly, and Neil scowls, he isn’t some puppy, despite being the youngest one here.

The original assailant stands, with glass sticking out of his cheeks, and advances toward Protagonist. He aims to take a swing, and receives a full barstool to the chest for his transgression. It is enough to knock the wind from his lungs, send him flying halfway across the bar, and to land in a dazed and confused state.

Neil is about to stand to help the other, when much to his shock, the other agent turns on him. He’s got his weapon again, and is keeping it trained on Neil, who throws his hands up in submission.

“Are we the hollow men?”

Neil asks, frantically searching the other agents face as he backs up to the edge of the bar.

“Are we the-“

A shot fires, but it is not at Neil, he expects to feel spatter, to note the warm familiar smell of copper and death. But it does not come, because the spray has gone backwards and away from him and toward the door. 

The other assailant looks down at his abdomen, before clutching a hand over the slow pooling red spot. Neil looks around him as the wounded agent falls to the ground, staring hard at The Protagonist who has just undoubtedly saved his life.

He holds up a hand, gun pointed away.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Neil.”

It rings in his ears, the way the other says his name with such conviction and emotion, a longing there he does not understand but desperately wishes to. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s his earnest expression and curled over posture. He’s acting non-threatening.

“How do you know my-”

He is cut off by another shot, this one apparently normal as he reels back and ducks down some. “I didn’t call for these men!”

The statement feels necessary, as if giving The Protagonist an excuse to kill them both.

“No?” It’s sass, sarcasm, clearly filled with humor and as much entertainment as he can pack into one word.

Neil sneers at him for it, his hair falling in front of his eyes and skewing his vision as he works to stand and takes the others offered hand, not quite making it away from his spot by the bar. At the moment, the man who somehow pulled a bullet from the bar counter and through another man is his best chance at survival. Especially when Protagonist has his own gun.

When he stole it is a complete mystery.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.” 

Neil reaches to grasp him, before reeling back in shock as a bullet tears through his blazer and out the back. His shoulder burns, this is the first time he has ever been shot.

They had taught him to not focus on the pain, to compartmentalize, survive, and escape the situation to get help.

But he watches The Protagonist go feral through blurred vision. Watches him take the other man apart with a single shot between the eyes, kicks his corpse and then spins immediately to assess Neil.

Neil reaches for him a second time, before he topples over like a felled tree.

It was not how he had wanted things to progress, abduction had never seemed his preferred first ‘date’. Alas, that was not how things were going.

The other two agents had been, from his understanding, tailing Neil from the start. Their reasons were unknown to him, but the idea that the other had always been tied up in international espionage just clicked. He was one of those men who appeared comfortable on any continent and with a drink in hand and a deceivingly expensive sport jacket, he would smile at Protagonist again.

One day, in the future. 

When he wasn’t covered in his own blood.

At least the wound was only through the shoulder. He felt like he would be teasing the other for passing out in the future.

He had seen the scar before, when the other was shirtless once around him. It had been an ugly thing, as if the other had aggravated the wound once or twice during the healing process. Perhaps during training or out of nervous self destruction, he didn’t know. But being aware of the origins? Knowing he had been a cause.

Well.

Scooping Neil up, he escorted himself out of the building.

He had hit Neil’s head on the doorway, cursing softly when he heard the thunk.

The blame for the headache the other would undoubtedly wake up with would be on the fall to the floor.

Sliding the other’s unconscious body into a car, he slipped into the driver’s seat and rubbed his face, before glancing into the back at the softly snoring brit.

“You should have told me it went so poorly, it could have saved me a lot of embarrassment! And you a lot of pain…”

There is no response, he should not have expected one.

He needs to get them as far away from the bar and to a safe place so he can wake Neil up. Being unconscious for too long will cause damage, even he knows that, so he makes swift work of the city, and is almost relieved when the other begins to stir in the back seat.

There is a Tenet office by the pier. What better place to take Neil than where it began for him.

Tenet, to his current understanding, seems to have always been.

Tenet is stretched beyond his comprehension of the future, and extends beyond his awareness of the past.

It ensures the safety of the world as HE knows it, but does not explain anything to himself about its plans for his own future. Does he continue to do this, does he invert, assure the safety of the universe, and then do it all over again?

Does Neil have a different future, or is he supposed to resign himself to the idea that he should have faith in the universe?

He doesn’t wish to resign himself to thinking things are permanently fixed to one path.

And yet here they are, at the beginning of the new future.

Swinging the car into a parking spot he exits the vehicle and goes around back to begin pulling Neil from the back seat. He’s waking up and groggy, pushing against Protagonist with deliberate grunts of struggle.

“Stop that, I’m trying to help.”

“You…got me shot.”

Neil pushes on him more, before resigning himself to being pulled from the vehicle and into the others arms.

“Strong…” he says it dumbly, wiggling a little before his head lolled back like a drunk.

A tenet operative has poked their head out from the door, giving Protagonist a brief squint before recognition dawns and he moves away and opens the door fully.

Neil is passed off to medical just as quickly, and vanishes from Protagonists sight. A few other agents have scuttled over to see if he is hurt, and they are brushed away just as quickly.

“I have to log an Inverse event at the Minim bar.”

“There was an undocumented event here?”

“Yes, someone knew I was going to be there and came to the bar posed as MI6.” He shoos the agent away, only pausing when he spots someone familiar stalking down the hallway at him. His shoulders roll back and he instinctively goes for his weapon, ready to fight at any given moment.

However this version of Ives does not seem to have the same intent of killing him.

This Ives is scruffier, a little scrawnier, and seems overall pleased to see him.

This Ives is from the past. 

It only takes one conversation to get Protagonist caught up.

Ives seemed good at that, regardless of his age or era. Three years forward or three years back, he’s calling Protagonist a cowboy and taking the report of an inverse event in stride.

“They probably observed the scene in reverse before and came back for seconds. Boy’s in the infirmary though, he wasn’t shot with an inverse bullet so he’ll make a full recovery. – he takes a moment to look toward where Neil is recovering after having the wound sealed shut- “New Recruit?”

Protagonist himself feels like the new recruit, and he looks back toward the med bay window, before returning his attention to Ives. “An old friend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was supposed to go up during the weekend but I got distracted.  
> Thank you for any feedback and interaction, I love all of you~  
> B.


	3. ReviveR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are segments of chapter 3, which will come in its entirety very soon. Feel free to read as it wont spoil the plot but will give some fun little Neil feels. 
> 
> Thank you for putting up with my horrific organizational skills. these were supposed to just be drabbles I posted and then they got a plot half way through.

**Forward time: 2:45**

****

He was seated, his mind tense but his body practiced at appearing relaxed and at ease. It would fool most anyone who spared him a glance in the coffee shop. Passer-byers who weaved through the cramped tables paid him little heed, and only once did a young woman stop to give him an intense stare from the outside window. Perhaps Neil should have sat further toward the wall, but being exposed and near the window were his instructions. He was to be found, that was the goal.

Bait, apparently? 

No, more like a beacon, a light drawing the Protagonist home from a long and choppy day at sea. He was running in reverse after-all, and was going to need someone to ground him quite soon.

It wasn’t like this conversation hadn’t already occurred, but it was never an easy one, never enjoyed. He fidgeted, sipped his coffee and wondered if he could make it palatable by spiking it. Their mission leader would likely be highly disapproving if he found out Neil was indulging on the clock, but he had already been waiting for an hour, and things were getting boring.

Pincer movements didn’t normally take so long, and the watch on his wrist was still ticking away, long since past its blue marker and into the red.

His laptop was only so and so entertaining, and he had already hacked into the others around him out of boredom motivated curiosity.

Idle hands were the devil's workshop, someone had told him once.

So he kept his hands working, typing swiftly, checking his surroundings every once in a while, and most importantly, looking for The Protagonist.

It comes as a surprise still when he slides into the chair across from him, spooking Neil into jerking a little and slamming his laptop closed in the most overt way possible.

“Good fuck, you spooked me.”

Protagonist says something, Neil has no idea how to speak backwards, but he stands and packs away his laptop immediately.

There is little use in communicating between the two of them when they can’t understand one another regardless. Protagonist has clearly been worn down though, by whatever he is going to see. And Neil intends to get him back and reversed as quickly as possible.

He’s breathing heavy into the oxygen mask, like he’s been running. How did he not notice him enter the coffee shop?

“Tenet.” He says calmly, knowing that even backwards Protagonist will understand, and he does, nodding in his broken backwards way.

It’s grounding, to understand something.

He knows from experience.

They move quickly, and when he gets him in the car it's more silence. It’s a big ugly sedan that Neil personally despises, especially driving on the ‘wrong side of the road’. But nothing is going to keep him from completing the mission, regardless of his curiosity and urge to swerve into traffic to prove a point.

Protagonist leans his head back against the seat of the car, closing his eyes to stave off the timeline nausea he is undoubtedly experiencing. Neil turns the heat on in the car, choosing to suffer so that his friend can experience some cold air. He receives a thankful smile in return, and Neil looks away, wondering if Protagonist already knew he would do that.

Working on opposite sides of the time stream never did please him. The idea that Protagonist flowing backwards, already aware of what had happened, already aware that they were going to make it to the drop point safely and that he could revert to normal time.

Would they make it back safely?

He could only trust in the timeline, and in his companion, to keep him alive and well.

His oxygen mask fogged up just slightly every time he breathed out, and Neil tried to focus on the road and not how the other looked, relaxed into the chair, slightly sweaty from whatever running he had been doing. His beard had been trimmed for the mission and his tactical suit was undone at the top to allow for better oxygen flow, better access to the excessively hot air Neil was sweltering from.

Cold for the protagonist, though.

Oh what he did for this man.

And yet the silence forced him into uncomfortable scenarios, and kicked his anxiety into a new gear.

He almost began to speed from it. 

Slow down, he muttered to himself.

Slow down so he doesn’t notice.

Normally, Protagonists questions were a welcome distraction from Neil’s own overactive mind. He would pester about this or that, prod Neil on whatever he was coding or reading. But these stretches of time, where if they shared words it would be confusing and a waste of oxygen, well.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and mussing up his hair.

Neil had been so good at companionable silence for so long, and then HE had to show up. Someone he struggled to read, someone he desired to know far more than he cared to intimately admit. Someone who his mind latched onto every tiny detail and stored it away like gold.

Every little fact,

Every little micro-expression,

Every little passing thought the protagonist cared to share, he kept it safe and secure.

But now? Now he didn’t know what he was thinking, now he didn’t know what to say or do except drive and keep himself from thinking about the paradoxical effects of his forward self carrying a backward self agent down the freeway and to their designated drop point.

Oh what had happened to the days where Neil was content to sit alone and read, and allow others to sit with him and bask in the glorified friendship of silence.

Anxiety had happened, Tenet had happened, the stresses of work, the lack of a social life. His social life was Protagonist now. Probably always would be. He didn’t have a problem with that, except for the fact it was making him feel a very specific way.

Anxious.

Anxious because he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.

Anxious because he didn’t know if he SHOULD be feeling

Anxious because he was being watched.

He turned and sneered at Protagonist for the observations. In reverse he was sure the myriad of expressions he was undoubtedly making were truly entertaining.

Or worrying.

Protagonists brows were furrowed, as far as Neil could tell anyway.

He looked back to the road, glad that their destination was in sight.

****

When Protagonist finds him he’s picked up a textbook to occupy his mind, and only glances up under his bangs when the other man sits down across from him at the hotel room table.

They are sharing a space for the day, after sending Protagonist back through the turnstile, he is reverted and raring to go with the information he had obtained.

However, he won’t tell Neil about it just yet.

Something about a forgery artist?

He can’t recall all the details of the conversation, he can only recall all the minute details of the protagonist's excitement as he retold them. Which was stupid and meant he was losing his touch at being able to multitask around his growing emotional baggage.

But damn him if this man wasn’t exceedingly attractive when passionate.

He’s planted both feet on the floor, legs spread wide, his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers interlocked with one another so tight that the skin has lightened around his knuckles. Neil drags his eyes up the other, taking him in.

He hopes it isn’t too obvious where his eyes linger, where he stops to covet.

Before snapping his attention upwards and adding, just to cover his ass.

“Another new suit?”

“The company seems to have deep pockets and a willingness to let me self-indulge.”

“Well it’s a good color on you, very fitting.”

A soft gray with a lavender dress shirt poking out from below, his socks even matched. He had neglected to add a tie for the time being. Perhaps his next destination was relaxed enough to not require one.

Neil found he had been staring at the others neck for too long and returned his focus to his book. He spoke without making eye contact.

“Care to indulge me in your thoughts?”

“How’s your art history?”

“Well I took a few courses in college, they were required and not by choice, but I think I could distinguish between a Dali and a Seurat…”

“That’ll do, I’m going to need you to work undercover for a while, working with an art forger who we need to procure some pieces from.”

“I’d think forgery was frowned upon in the art world?”

“We just need a piece good enough to get us into auction…”

He nods slowly, only tracking so far, indeed though it is always this way. He never is given the whole picture. Protagonist is the artist and he knows where the brush strokes need to be made. Neil is the paintbrush, put into action and artfully performing any task which the artist requires of him.

He wonders if the media will be blood.

“I’m to assume this means you want me to be a quick study?”

“I love when you know exactly where I’m going with a subject.”

“And it has to be me? I don’t know how well I’ll do working with art. I’m more of a numbers man…”

“Oh, you’ll do fine,” Protagonist leans over to slap his thigh, and Neil wishes he wouldn’t. If only because the solid heat of his palm is immediately registered, stored away, something he might focus his attention on much later at night, when he’s sure he’s alone and unbothered.

“You seem oh so confident…” he sighed and sat up, forcing the other to remove his hand. Neil folded the book closed and set it down in his lap. “What then, do you suggest I study?”

“I already had control send over some art texts I think will help.”

He nods to a bag Neil had not seen him bring in, and then Neil casually returns his stare to his protagonist.

“Are you going to help me study?”

“Only if you promise to be a good student.”

Neil smirks.

Protagonist smirks.

****

As it turns out, studying is impossible with the other in the room. He’s got four of the books open at once, comparing artists, learning useless information like what decade they were from and where they were born. What medium they used and how long it took them to complete their works.

Neil preferred to work in facts and realism. The real world was so interesting that he did not have time to appreciate the artwork in front of him.

Protagonist seemed to have a true knack for appreciating art.

Perhaps it was only a talent other artists possessed…

Regardless, he sits, staring blankly at the pages, comparing, and then finding his mind has wandered and he has starred for five whole minutes into the abyss of a Rembrandt background. Only when he snaps his eyes up does he notice the slightly disapproving stare he is receiving. It makes him uncomfortable to be spotted not doing well, but Protagonist doesn’t say a word, simply focuses back on his own book.

A study of how art auction houses work, and how to pick your bidding battles, it also looked like a slog.

Again the silence is becoming too much, and he can occasionally hear his own frustrated heartbeat.

He casts protagonist another glance, and this time he is not being watched.

Neil takes the time to stare, putting his cheek in his palm and watching intently, looking over the other as his dark eyes scan over the pages, reading with impressive speed. And Neil knew his comprehension and absorption were going to be perfect. He was always perfect.

And then something stirred inside him, the feeling of anxiety grown from feeling insignificant.

A struggle he knew he would always have.

However capable, however many classes Protagonist insisted he take, however much the other believed in him. Neil was always running from interiority.

Always running from being second-fiddle,

Forgotten in the wake of a master at work,

A play tech observing from the sidelines.

And then protagonist turned to look at him, and he couldn’t help the red in his cheeks as he snapped back down to the books he was supposed to be reading.

There was a shift on the couch, and the other male had turned to sit up and fully face Neil, who had curled his shoulders forward in some sort of submissive promise that he would do better.

“What’s wrong?”

Neil glanced up under his tousled hair, eyeing the protagonist, judging his intent, before refocusing on the books at hand.

“Nothing, I just think I need more coffee…”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“You know I struggle to do that at the best of times…”

Protagonist, with his military efficiency, could seemingly sleep in most any place at most any time. Neil, on the other hand, often resorted to drowsiness delivering drugs.

Protagonist sighed and stood, heading to the cabinets in the kitchenette. “I still have some of that vile form our last mission, maybe you should get some rest Neil, you’ve been pushing yourself.”

“These artists aren’t going to memorize themselves, and the sun is still up.”

“Nap’s exist.”

“Naps are for toddlers.”

“And toddlers get spanked for being petulant, do you want that?”

Neil catches himself before he says yes on lustful instinct. Horrified by his potential self, he simply laughs nervously, giving Protagonist a distrustful stare, as if he had almost fallen into a purposeful trap.

But of course not, the protagonist was never that interested in him…

Right?

“I think I’ll just….take the nap…right here.”

He’s glad he’s got a book in his lap.

****

Neil is alone when he indulges.

Normally.

The protagonist left to go deal with some unknown, something he isn’t allowed to know about. It might be a recruitment, it might be weapons collection, it might be the inversion of something they will need later, or before.

Either way, he has the apartment to himself.

It’s too quiet though.

Opening a window only provides background noise.

The TV is un-stimulating,

The books are boring,

Even the stupid mission reports from Ives are tedious.

And worst of all, the idea of trying to find any sort of sexually gratifying relief when he has _homework_ is almost unbearable. It’s been a day since he was assigned this task, a day since Protagonist taunted him with bait on a sharp hook.

The hook was rejection, which he was not willing to take because he wasn’t sure if he could keep things professional if he _was_ rejected.

Guilt keeps his hand out of his pants, and instead turns the knobs on a cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for getting through to the end~  
> Comments are adored, i will post more soon.  
> B.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll organize this better, I promise lol.  
> Ask me any questions you like, I love conversation!  
> Comments are adored, thank you for reading~  
> B.


End file.
